Niagra Falls Poem by Dr.Michael Brown

Men lining the path before the falls, kneel
with diamond rings
to ask women they love a question;
no one falls from the sky
in a wooden barrel to survive a relationship
with the depth of the falls in view.
Thunder never stops long enough to be collected.
Water billows at the bottom of the drop,
like white clouds, pristine mists of wet shadows;
I can moisten my throat with the spray
from the falls with my eyes closed and my mouth open.
Behind me Canada stands beautiful in silent solitude,
like the neighbor who leaves his sprinkler watering
the lawn on our cul-de-sac tucked away in the landscape
of the USA, somewhere not so far from here.